


Enough

by killalla



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Community: Meme of Interest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-09 23:55:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killalla/pseuds/killalla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He shouldn't even have to ask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Strange](https://archiveofourown.org/works/768555) by [astolat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/pseuds/astolat). 



> Written for the POI Kinkmeme.

Finch was having a bad day, pain wise. Reese noticed it in his limited and careful movement, in the way he used the swivel chair to shift his entire upper body when he needed to turn. And by the third time he did that awkward twist with his head, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to step behind the chair and slowly start massaging his neck, fingers working into the knotted muscles, gently negotiating the ridges of scar tissue that were apparent even through the soft fabric of his shirt.

He could feel Finch unwind beneath his hands, some of the stored tension slipping away. What was surprising, though, were the noises he made - at first an involuntary grunt, then a sharp intake of breath, and something that sounded distinctly like a moan. Reese stops, astonished, motion stilling. This is – unexpected. 

Finch looks abashed. The fine tailoring of his trousers does nothing to hide his evident erection. “My apologies, Mr. Reese. I fear I’ve overstepped a line – purely inadvertently, I assure you. You’re doubtless aware that even prior to the incident, I was never exactly an expert on relationships, and subsequent to it, I’ve been somewhat hampered in such matters. ‘Middle–aged cripples’ aren’t in particular demand on the dating market. ” His expression is wry, trying to defuse the situation with a touch of self-deprecation.

Reese takes the opening. “Not to mention the part where you’re technically a ghost.” 

“There is that, too. I had thought of hiring a professional, but as you may be aware, I have some issues with privacy – and trust.” Finch’s expression shifts, and in that instant, the stress and sadness are clearly visible. He looks tired. He looks resigned. 

Reese can feel his own rising annoyance. “You should have said something, should have let me help with this.” Why hadn’t it occurred to him before? 

It’s Finch’s turn to look surprised. “It’s very generous, of you, John, but I would never ask you to…”

“Harold. You don’t have to ask, I’m offering.” And of course, it makes perfect sense. Isolated from the rest of the world, fugitives in hiding, it would be almost expected that they share this type of support. It’s not very different than it had been with Kara, and questions of gender and preference don’t come into it. Indeed, before Harold can answer, John is already on his knees, and reaching for his belt buckle.

It’s something he’d have readily offered a partner, even an asset, if asked and if necessary - and this is Finch. Finch, who rescued him twice over, who provided him with a purpose, and gave him the only parts of his current life worth saving. If there is anything John can do for him, to give him comfort, ease his pain – he shouldn’t even have to ask.

“John, you don’t have to….God…” Harold is becoming more inarticulate as he nears climax, fingers carding lightly through John’s hair. It’s only at the last moment that they grip, tightening along the line of his skull as he gasps and comes.

“I – thank you, John.” Harold slumps back in his chair. In a minute, he has righted his clothing, and is tucking in his shirt, but the endorphins are doing their work, and he already looks looser, more relaxed.

“Don’t mention it.” John straightens, and smiles. “I’m not bad at giving massages, either.” If he can get Harold back to his place, maybe, or the suite at the Coronet - 

“Perhaps later.” There’s the slightest hint of a blush visible above Finch’s collar. 

John grins. This is how it’s going to work. Harold won’t have to ask again, not now that John knows that this is something else he can offer, something he can give. He might even (finally) get to see the inside of Finch’s apartment, and he’s willing to bet that Harold is pretty good with his hands. 

And if it can ease Harold’s loneliness, make his work easier; compensate him, however slightly, for the debt John owes him, then it’s something. And he will offer it gladly, until the day his death catches him, or he becomes too broken to serve. Because they’re chasing the days down to zero, now, and there isn’t going to be anything else, anyone else, for either of them – not anymore.

And it might not be happily ever after, but it’s enough.


End file.
